Текст книги "Mate"
Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood
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CHAPTER 24
He didn’t think she could be more perfect.
Then she offered him her bite.
KOEN’S PHONE RINGS, AND WHEN MY EYES FLUTTER OPEN, HE’S lying back next to me, head on the pillow, the column of his neck golden in the morning light.
Once again, his stubble is on its way to a beard. His features, his hair, the line of his profile– everything about him has become so dear to me, I want to bury my face in his chest and scream about it till my vocal cords give out.
That’s when his lips part, and he asks, “Are you okay?”
He sounds perfectly awake, but his eyes remain closed. “Yeah.” I don’t get a chance to ask if he is, too. The arm that isn’t wrapped around me grabs the phone, picks up the call, and sets it on speaker.
His eyes are still closed. “Sem,” he says.
How does he know—
“Sorry about the early call. I may have some news about Serena’s condition.”
“No shit,” Koen mutters.
“Excuse me? I couldn’t quite make out– ”
“See you at your office. Twenty minutes.” He hangs up. Wipes a tired hand down his face and, at last, looks at me.
“What’s that about?” I ask.
“You.” Gently, he extricates himself. He sits up, displaying an equally unsurprising and annoying amount of control over his core muscles.
“What can Sem have found out in less than twenty-four hours?”
“Fuck all. His partner, however, is a midwife.” He rolls his shoulders into a stretch, and I try not to stare at the masterpiece of architecture that is his back. Remind myself that he can hear my heartbeat speed up, and smell . . . everything. “I imagine he talked about your situation with her, and she realized what’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
He ignores me and heads for the bathroom. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
“To go where?”
He looks at me from over his shoulder, a small smile curving his lips. “Biology class.”
KOEN INTERRUPTS SEM ABOUT THIRTY SECONDS INTO HIS CLEARLY rehearsed speech on why he decided to consult with another specialist regarding my situation. “Just call in Layla. We can safely assume that Serena should be transferred to her care.”
Two minutes and a greenish, flustered Sem later, Layla comes in and sits behind the desk. Sem never returns. “Koen,” she says. “I think it might be best if you and I talked about this for a minute. Alone.”
Koen frowns. “Isn’t this about Serena?”
She hesitates. Nods.
“Then tell Serena.”
“This is . . . delicate.”
“It’s also about her body. I’m not the pack HR rep, but my guess is that she should know before me.”
“Alpha, I . . .”
Lines appear between Koen’s brows. Layla instantly quiets. “Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to walk out of this office, and you are going to tell Miss Paris whatever she needs to know. Then, if she wants to, she’ll inform me of– ”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I’d rather Koen stay, for now.”
“Koen,” Layla says, and all of a sudden, she sounds less like a pack member and more like a friend. Someone who knew Koen when he was young– who was young with him. “You’re not going to like me doing it this way.”
A merry, careless shrug. “Then I’ll have to be a fucking big boy about it, won’t I?”
“I feel like I’m left out of an inside joke,” I interrupt. “Or like I am an inside joke. What am I missing?”
Layla’s smile is reassuring. “It’s more what your other doctors missed. They were so concerned about the cortisol surges that they rightfully blamed your most extreme symptoms on them, but they missed the broader context.”
“Context about . . . ?”
She pauses, clearly sifting through words. Meanwhile, Koen looks as though he’s watching a show for the tenth time. Nothing that’s about to happen is going to surprise him. He could probably take over the proceedings.
What the hell is going on?
“You see, your estrogen levels are also noticeably past normal thresholds, but because of the existence of CSD, Dr. Henshaw and Sem assumed that the complex relationship between estradiol and– ”
“Layla.” I soften my interruption with a smile. “It’s very lovely that you don’t want me to blame them, and I promise I won’t, not for misreading the blood work of yours truly. But you’re saying lots of things that I don’t understand, and the suspense is killing me faster than the cortisol, so– ”
“Estrus,” she blurts out. “You’re going into Estrus.”
“Ah.” I nod.
Sit back in my chair, scratching my temple.
Gather all that I know about Estruses– Estri?– which is a beautiful wasteland of nothing.
“People without degrees would call it going into Heat,” Koen says, and the realization crashes into me like a caravan of armored trucks.
My behavior last night.
The dreams.
Koen’s . . . everything.
“People with degrees, too,” Layla adds shyly. “But it can be a charged word. I wouldn’t want to upset you.”
“You aren’t,” I say. Very upset. “Is this a thing that happens to Weres?”
“Yes, it does. Usually in wolf form.”
“But I’m . . .” I point at myself. I’m not in wolf form seems a redundant statement.
“Breakthrough heats are not unheard of in human form, either. I’ve been practicing for about ten years, and I’ve had several patients like you, triggered by all sorts of things.”
“Such as?”
“Stressful events. Medications. The most common cause is close proximity to a sexually compatible partner.” It’s remarkable how impersonally she delivers the last few words. One would think she’s throwing out hypothetical scenarios, but I can see her hands rubbing under the desk. The fidgety bounce of her foot.
I’m not immune to the rising unease in the room, either. There’s a string tied around my neck, and Koen is pulling at it. I want to turn to him more than I want to breathe. But if I did, we’d both be remembering the way I begged him last night, and I’m not sure poor Layla deserves to witness that mess.
“If I may ask, Serena, have you been having trouble shifting?” She smiles triumphantly at my nod. “Sorry. I’m not happy that . . . There is a biological premise for this that I could explain– ”
“No need,” I hasten to say.
“– but none of my other patients were able to shift until their cycle was over.”
“Why do the fevers get so bad at night?” Koen asks.
“Simple circadian fluctuations. They’re also happening more frequently, because the Estrus is approaching. Given Serena’s half-Were state, it’s hard to predict with certainty when it’ll start, but my guess is . . . soon.”
Unfortunately, this is when I cannot put it off any longer. The Question. I close my eyes. Mentally laser off the part of my brain that experiences embarrassment. Ask, “What will happen when Estrus starts?”
Maybe I should tell Koen to leave. The thing is, after last night he has the right to know the details of the special dumpster fire in which we’re frolicking, and Layla informing the both of us at once seems less painful than having to relay stuff to him later on. Using my own words.
“Well.” Layla clears her throat. Longingly gazes at a wall calendar, probably wishing she could turn back time and become a graphic designer. “There’s a lot to consider when it comes to– ”
“Just tell her,” Koen orders. Yesterday, in this very office, he sounded so angry, I briefly wondered if I was going to have to send an apology vase of hydrangeas to the Caine family. Today, I cannot get the slightest read on him.
Layla coughs, just to buy some time. “Some symptoms have already begun. Decrease in appetite. General aches. In the next few days, you’ll likely see a spike in nesting behavior.”
“Please, tell me I won’t be picking up twigs and weaving baskets out of them.”
“It has more to do with procuring scents, textures, and objects you find soothing. The goal is for you to build a space that will offer comfort in a time of need.”
“What do you mean by . . . What kind of objects?” I’m half terrified that she’ll recommend a list of vibrators.
The answer is somehow worse.
“There is no hard and fast rule. It can be a particularly soft fabric. A piece of clothing that belongs to someone who makes you feel safe. Some people hoard specific objects and arrange them in soothing ways. Combine different materials.”
“Why does this sound like a job that requires a master’s degree?”
“Not at all. There is no right or wrong way to nest, and it’s a very instinctive process.” She scratches her nose. “You may have even already started, in your own way.” Layla’s eyes pointedly slide to the overly large red flannel I stole from Koen’s closet, and I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my cheeks.
“Oh.” I think about my room back home– the way I’ve been stuffing it with blankets of the perfect consistency, pillows filled with the right amount of feather. If Human scientists focused on their work as much as I did on my bed, herpes simplex would be a thing of the past.
God. It’s like being told that baby carrots are just regular ones peeled to be smaller: I should have realized what was going on a long time ago, but I didn’t, and now I feel stupid. Beside me, Koen betrays no emotion at the idea of contributing to my . . .
Nest.
“There will also be temporary physiological changes. For instance, your scent will become more appealing to potential partners.”
“As in, my smell brings all the Weres to the yard?”
“Well, I haven’t gotten close enough to you to ascertain whether the enhancement has begun, but– ”
“It has,” Koen said, settling Layla’s waffling.
And that’s that. We all marinate in those two little words for a handful of seconds, which happens to be just long enough for me to wistfully imagine being swallowed by a river of magma. “Is this going to . . . Should I be worried?” I glance at Koen, who doesn’t get my meaning. “How appealing is my scent going to be to others? Should I get online and order a Taser?”
He blinks. “You already own a knife. But let me reassure you that any Were in this pack who touches you without an express request from you is going to come into a windfall of pain. And then die.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” I smile, disappointed to find that his lips don’t curve in response.
Is he angry? He should be. I made him break an oath. And he didn’t even . . . But does it matter? Where do we draw the line? Will he feel compelled to do it again in the near future?
“Koen,” I say softly. “I think you should leave now.”
He doesn’t protest. “I’ll be outside. Call if you want me back in.”
The second the door clicks behind me, Layla asks, “Do you know what covenant the Alpha of the Northwest must abide by?”
I nod.
She seems relieved. When she resumes speaking, most of the awkwardness has melted away, and I realize that the tense atmosphere was due to her awareness that Koen is, by law, not allowed to touch me.
Her newfound directness is refreshing. “The main symptom of Estrus is that you’ll want to have sex. A lot. So much so, it might be hard to engage in any other activity. Some people equate the experience to being intoxicated, but that has a negative connotation many healthcare professionals reject. Estrus is its own unique state. You will be able to make decisions. The brain fog and arousal noise will just make it hard to think of the consequences and delay gratification. This will last for anywhere from two to five days. You will spend this time alone with a chosen partner, or partners, depending on your preferences.”
The idea of allowing anyone but Koen to touch me is ludicrous, but I nod anyway.
“Estrus often accentuates sexual behaviors. For instance, you might find yourself wanting to please your partner more than usual. In turn, a partner tends to become very protective of a Were in heat. They will not take well to threats against them, but they also won’t necessarily be able to distinguish a real threat from, say, someone dropping by with a casserole. That’s why isolation is usually considered the ideal scenario.”
“What if a Were doesn’t have a partner? Does anyone just do it . . . alone?”
I’m not surprised by how swiftly Layla shakes her head. “I highly discourage it. Plainly, you won’t be able to orgasm without interaction with a partner, which will make the experience miserable.”
Keep touching yourself and lick the base of my throat.
Yeah. I can picture that a little too clearly.
“But,” she continues, “you’ll easily find a partner. I remember reading that sexual activity can be perceived as something shameful and taboo among Humans. Weres have a highly pragmatic attitude toward sex, and I’m sure many would volunteer to help. And I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that even though I fully understand how disorienting the situation must be, most Weres who go through a Heat find it a highly pleasurable bonding experience. Not to mention that it’s not always easy for us to conceive, so the increase in fertility is often appreciated.”
I cover my mouth. “I’m an idiot.”
“Why?”
“Pregnancy is the whole biological reason behind this, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes. Is that something you’re interested in?”
I used to be. Funnily enough, when I thought I was a Human orphan, the idea of having a child was magic: someone who might share my DNA. Someone to take care of. I used to picture it like a do– over of sorts: my child would not be traumatized into forgetting the first six years of its life. My child would suffer zero assassination attempts before its eighteenth birthday– or after. My child would never know true fear or hunger, and its happiness would soak up all the sadness I’d generated and polluted the world with.
Back in college, whenever Misery would catch me playing with the neighbor’s kids, pinching their cheeks, calling them cute, she’d roll her eyes so hard, her contacts nearly popped out. I hear they shit everywhere. And eat all your peanut butter.
That’s true of you, too.
Precisely. Do you really need two of me?
So, yes. I used to be interested. But now . . . “It’s unclear whether it’s even possible. Because of my genetic makeup.”
“I see. Well, in the eventuality that you can, let me make it clear: you will never be asked to put your body through anything you don’t want to. And my job is to help you do what’s best for you.”
I smile at her, genuinely grateful. “In that case, I need one thing from you.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“I need you to make sure that I do not go into Heat.”
CHAPTER 25
He never thought the world was a particularly fair place. Still, it’s a startlingly vile brand of cruelty on fate’s part, to show him her– what he could have had, if only he’d made different choices.
IN THEORY,” LAYLA SAYS CAREFULLY, “WITH A HIGH DOSE OF PROGESTERONE, we should be able to prevent Estrus.”
“Perfect. Then– ”
“But we don’t know how an injection would interact with your biology.” Her eyes fall on the lab results strewn over the desk, and she starts ticking off her fingers. “Your Estrus started manifesting much earlier than in any other patient I’ve heard of, your hormone levels are still off, and your body doesn’t always respond to medication. When Dr. Henshaw gave you steroid blockers, they were ineffective, just like antipyretic drugs. You could even get a paradoxical reaction– ”
“We can try, though. Right?”
She pauses. “Serena, I will be happy to help you find a suitable partner– ”
“That’s not it.”
“What is it, then?”
“What if . . .” I close my eyes. “What if my body is set on Koen?” What if my soul is, too. What if the idea of doing any of this with someone who isn’t him makes my stomach turn and my heart shrivel?
Out of everything I’ve said, this takes her aback the most. Her eyes widen, and she leans forward over the desk, as if to better reassure me, “I understand that you and Koen have grown close. Heat is a turbulent time, and it’s natural to want to spend it with someone you trust. We are not Human, after all, and we communicate through nonverbal signals like touch or scent, and it’s normal to want to be with someone who reads you well. But you can still find someone else who qualifies– ”
“Maybe it’s not about can.” I swallow. “Maybe it’s about want.” Honestly, I no longer know if there’s a difference between the two.
Her lips flatten. “Serena, it’s forbidden. To help you through your heat, Koen would be required to step down, which would inevitably lead to a succession war. Even worse, the Assembly might decide to– ”
“Secede again. Yes.” It’s my turn to lean forward. Make sure she understands. “I have no intention of putting Koen, or the Northwest, in that position. And that’s why I need you to help me not go into Heat.”
A flicker passes through her eyes, and I know that she’ll do what I’m asking for.
I STEP OUTSIDE SEM’S OFFICE TO FIND KOEN GONE AND BRENNA rolling her eyes. “You know what my favorite pastime is?”
“Um . . . no?”
“Waking up at ass o’clock in the morning because my Alpha wants me to babysit a halfling who can’t take care of herself, and noticing her poorly hidden, crushing disappointment when she sees me. So delightfully flattering.”
I blush. “I’m sorry. It’s lovely to see you, I just didn’t expect– ”
“Yeah, sure. Yap, yap, yap. Come on.” She lifts herself out of one of the plush chairs in the waiting room. “Let’s go. Koen wants me to take you home.”
I last about four seconds before asking, “Where did he– ”
“There was a situation at the border.” Her tone is bored.
“Was it the cult?”
“No. Still related to you, though.”
“Who was it, then?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Brenna, who?” I hate begging her for little snippets of information. Almost as much as she loves leaving me in limbo for the two minutes we walk to her car.
“Vampyres,” she admits once she’s behind the wheel. “A lot of them, split in two groups, trying to get to you from the north. Their plan was to have the first team distract our patrols while the second entered the territory to abduct you. Didn’t work out.”
“Who sent them?”
“See, there is some devious shit going on here. The Vampyres in the first group, the ones we were obviously supposed to catch, were wearing jewelry that would tie them to a councilmember who has historically been pro Were alliances, which . . .”
“Would be incredibly stupid.”
“And say what you want about leeches, but they’re not. Unless they are, because they think we’d fall for false flags. Food for thought. The second group was harder to identify, so . . .”
“Did they contact Owen?”
“Yup. He was able to recognize a couple of them and believes it’s proof that Councilwoman Selamio called the bounty on you. But he needs incontrovertible evidence and possibly a confession, which in turn requires the presence of someone who can be very . . . persuasive. Hence, Koen.”
Who’s nothing if not persuasive. “Are you planning to return them alive?”
She gives me a pitying glance. “That ship has long sailed for most of them.”
“Oh. Right.” I clear my throat. “Do you know what the councilwoman wanted with me?”
“To study you. Run a whole assay on your lymph nodes. Cut you up in cubes and slap you on microscope slides. That kind of stuff.” She grins at me. It transforms the usually dour lines of her face into something so stunning, I have no problem picturing Koen’s crush on her when they were younger.
Last night . . . What he and I did. What he did to me– he didn’t seem clumsy. Or new at it. Or even out of practice. And since Brenna and Koen used to—
“Are you okay?” Brenna asks me.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“No, I mean . . . You were seeing Sem first thing in the morning. You’re not dying or something, are you?”
I blink at her, and all at once I’m not quite sure how to breathe, or speak, or interact with the world surrounding me. It’s like I’ve been locked in a cupboard for months. But its door has been ripped open, and now there’s light. There’s air. There’s a fucking future.
I don’t have CSD. Which means that I have more than just months left. I can make choices. I can go back to the Southwest, see Ana grow up, watch Misery be the worst parent on the planet. I can be a journalist again, or a financial advisor, or dedicate the next ten years to learning how to solve Rubik’s Cubes. I can apply for a loan, buy a cabin close to the Pacific Coast, and spend my mornings exploring the shoreline. I can annoy Koen ad infinitum.
The joy of it sings so loudly in my blood, the car is too small to contain it. I have to trap it within my body and let go of it little by little, in slow puffs of air.
“No,” I say at last. Because for the first time in months, I can. “As it turns out, I’m not dying.”
“’Kay. Good.”
“I . . . Brenna, could we stop by the store?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I . . .” A tear slides down my cheek. I cover my smile with the palm of my hand. “I just realized that I’m going to need some sunscreen.”
I SPEND THE DAY ALONE IN THE CABIN, WITH FREQUENT VISITS from the Weres patrolling the surrounding area. A couple of them I know. Several introduce themselves. All of them are naked. I must be adapting well to the Northwest lifestyle, because I barely notice.
They check in, see if I need anything. Ask the same questions, in the same order, with the same wording, which may take away some of the spontaneity but makes them feel even more like the proxies of the man who sent them.
I talk on the phone with Ana, then Ana and Misery, then just Misery. It’s hard not to share that I’m not yet headed for the mushroom suit. Can’t tell them about the sequel if you didn’t let them watch the original.
I putter around the house. Clean the sheets. I’m not hungry, but I open the fridge anyway, just to glance affectionately at the still prominently placed unicorn waffles. I play the piano, sure it’s silently cringing at how ghostly I pale in comparison to its owner. I try not to think about Koen’s hands. I nap, hoping I won’t wake up in flames. Or uncontrollably horny.
Heat spotting, Layla called it. They are surges that happen before Heat itself. Not long lasting, but can be intense. I suspect that your high fevers may have been surges left unattended.
Koen returns a little before sunset, while I’m going to town on a seven-year-old half-completed crossword I found under his bed. I have a whole speech ready– about what happened last night, about my lifespan’s sudden growth spurt, about how I never meant to force him to break his covenant. About how sorry I am that he spent his day dealing with Vampyre commandos who are after me, and the fact that yes, I’m absolutely judging him for letting nearly a decade pass without filling in seven across: diminishing marginal utility. But he walks inside, dark circles under his eyes and tousled hair, caught at a rare unguarded time, and all I can squawk out is “I made dinner.”
He turns. Stares. Sucks in his cheek. “Did you.” He sounds suspicious.
“Yup.”
“Saul said you’ve been asleep for the past four hours.”
“I lied. I’m good at it, as you know. Plus, by the fourth person who knocked to ask if I needed anything, I kinda knew the– What happened to your side?” A large stain seeps into the dark gray of his cotton Henley. He glances at it like he’d forgotten about it.
“I’m going to get changed.”
The closer I get, the easier it is to smell it– the coppery tinge of fresh Were blood, so different from the iron of mine. “Sure, sure. ’Tis but a scratch. You’ve proven your Alpha unflappability. Your pain threshold is so high, it’s wondering if the color blue you see is different from the color blue I see. I am adequately impressed– now take the shirt off.”
“And if I’m deathly wounded?” His eyebrow twitches skeptically. “What are you going to do about it, doctor?”
I gasp. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to pretend I know Were anatomy, loudly debate whether you need stitches, decide that you don’t, because I have no idea what stitches even are, and clean the general area of the wound with a cotton swab while ignoring the grosser bits. Most importantly, I will not pass Go before retrieving my physician assistant diploma. Any objections?”
He hides a smile, but I spot it anyway, even as he reaches over his shoulder, grabs the upper back of the shirt, and pulls it off.
The wound is not a scratch, but neither is it as bad as the pooling blood suggested.
“Alpha,” he murmurs from above my head. “We heal quickly.”
And yet just last night, he was whole. That very spot beneath his ribs was unbroken and smooth. Except, what do I know? I didn’t get to touch him. I touched myself while no one took care of him. So unfair, I could scream. “What happened?”
“Vampyre.”
“I thought they were all . . .”
“Dead?”
I nod.
“We kept a couple for questioning. One’s restraints were a bit loose.”
“And then?”
“Then he wasn’t alive anymore. No big deal.” He disappears into his room, and I shiver, picturing blood the same color as Misery’s. I busy myself warming up dinner, setting the table with the few plates he owns, rinsing the—
Koen comes up behind me, hands bracketing my sides. I jolt. The glass slips from my hand, straight into the sink, but doesn’t break. His body barely touches mine; it’s such an inappropriately intimate, jarringly mundane gesture, my heart cracks.
And then it breaks into a million pieces when his nose nuzzles the crown of my head. His voice is as rough as coffee grounds. “Why does it feel like you’re playing house again, killer?”
Because I am. “Playing” being the key word. “I’m sorry.” My mouth is dry. “I didn’t mean to– ”
“C’mon. I didn’t say stop.”
I kill the faucet and turn in his arms. He showered off the blood and put on jeans and a flannel, which hangs open over his bare chest. The look we exchange is worth a million unspoken words but could be condensed to fewer than ten.
It’s wrong. Let’s do it anyway, though.
I reach up. Fasten the buttons of his shirt. Each one feels like a choice, like whittling the rest of the world away to carve out this night just for us. Excising a moment in time. It’s just me and him. And the face he makes a couple of minutes later, when he puts the first bite of dinner in his mouth. “Fuck me.”
I beam. “You are such a better audience than Misery.” I don’t care if Vampyres don’t eat. I’ll take her refusal of my cooking personally till the day I die.
“Holy fuck.” He continues shoveling pasta with meat sauce in his mouth, and I consider taking a picture of it and scrapbooking it. I’ve written an award-winning exposé on the largest embezzlement scandals in The City and covered one of the most abstruse monopoly trials ever recorded, but . . .
Okay, I’m still prouder of those. But it’s satisfying, watching him inhale something I made. Why do I care about some dude’s opinion?
Because he’s not some dude.
“At the Collateral mansion we weren’t allowed to prepare our food, so cooking feels like an insurrectionary action that doesn’t require me to put on clothes and go outside.”
He says “Please, insurge away” over another mouthful, and I decide to just let myself enjoy this. I ask him if he can cook. He says not well, but I tell him that I don’t believe him, not after the piano stunt, and he shakes his head, which I’ve learned is his way of laughing when he doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction of having amused him.
“I can’t believe you let me teach you the C major chord. Why are you that good, by the way?”
“My dad taught music.”
“And you lied to me, because . . .”
“You didn’t ask if I could play. You asked if I played. And before this week, I hadn’t. Not in years.”
“God, I hate you.”
“Sure.”
He side-eyes me when I make him lift me onto the counter to watch him wash the dishes. “I do have some furniture.” He points at the two chairs he brought in from the porch.
“I like it better here,” I say, tapping the stone countertop.
“Can you Humans just not sit normally?”
“Can you Weres just not mind your business?”
He splashes me with soap suds, and I grin as I cover my face.
After, I make tea. He makes me add several spoonfuls of sugar, and we drink it on the back porch, sitting on the steps, long after the sun has set. From the same mug. His lips touch the same water molecules as mine.
“I can’t believe you take your coffee black but sweeten your tea,” I say.
“I don’t drink black coffee.”
“What? Since when?”
“Since I started drinking it, during the High Middle Ages.”
“But . . . I’ve been giving you black coffee.”
“And I have been hating it.”
I frown. “Are you sure you don’t take it black? Like a real man?”
His eyebrow lifts. “I wasn’t aware of the proven correlation between virility and coffee intake.”
“Oh, there isn’t one. But you’re supposed to be warped by toxic masculinity and not know that. And I’m supposed to be the one who enlightens you.”
His stare feels like a kiss. More than any kiss I’ve experienced ever did. “You’re really a nuisance, aren’t you?”
I grin so hard, my cheeks hurt. “What do you even do when I’m not here?”
“It’s a good question. When you’re not around, the entire pack just sits around and thumb-twiddles– ”
“Oh, come on.” I elbow his biceps. “You know what I mean. What’s your corporate mission? What’s an Alpha’s routine? You wake up and the first thing you do is . . . ?”
“Chase that squirrel we discussed.”
“Koen. Don’t force me to break into your diary.”
He shrugs. Takes another sip, as if thinking about it. “It changes. For the most part, a well-functioning pack is a well-oiled machine. Everyone has their skillset, and everyone has their job. There’s lots of delegating, but as the Alpha, the buck stops with you. Which means that when something isn’t going great, when there is a decision to be made, that’s where I need to be.”
I look at him. His strong nose. The set of his eyes. How is it possible that I find him even more handsome than I did the first time I met him? “Do you ever consider . . . you know?”
“I don’t know, no.”
I scoot closer. Conspiratorial. “Do you ever consider going full dictator? I’m talking thirty-foot bronze Koen statue. Koen stamps. Koen as every child’s middle name. Senior prom theme: Koen. Mandatory Koen parades with Koen floats every week.”
“You done?”
I sigh. “Those who have the means never have the vision. Want some?”
I found monster cookies in his cupboard– another Ana souvenir. They’re a bit stale but still good. I eat most of one, then talk him into a bite by holding what’s left to his face and pouting. His mouth brushes my fingertips, and the memory of it imprints against the pad of my thumb. The scrape of his teeth. An impression of heat.
I pull away. Listen as he lists all the places he wants to show me, here in his territory, and clench my fist to hoard the warmth of his touch. It’s getting late, and the ocean breeze has me shivering, but I don’t want to go inside. I’m afraid that it’ll be over, two doors and a hallway between us, so I lift my closed fists. “Choose one.”
